


fraternization

by zombeesknees



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Mccoy's been going through a rough spell; will the ever-attentive Nurse Chapel be able to help the unwilling patient? | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	fraternization

He threw back the shot, coughing a little as it burned down his throat. Another three or four and he’d be good and proper drunk, of the sort he hadn’t been since the night his wife left him. He set the glass down with a sharp clink and reached for the uncapped bottle of bourbon.

A pale arm stretched down over his shoulder and grabbed the bottle, pulling it away just as his fingers closed clumsily around empty air.

“You’ve gotta lotta nerve—” he began angrily, twisting in his chair.

Chapel looked at him with an infuriatingly blank expression. “Doctor, if you’re going to get drunk, shouldn’t you be getting drunk with the other officers? Where’s the captain? Better still, why aren’t you planet-side enjoying the shore leave like everyone else?”

He blinked at her, momentarily confused by the barrage of questions. Then he straightened, jaw tightening visibly beneath the accumulated scruff of several days. “Don’t care much for shore leave. Too much noise. Too many kids actin’ like damned fools. Prefer to drink alone, thankyouverymuch.”

“I think that’s one of the danger signs of alcoholism,” she said pointedly, stepping around the table and pulling out the chair opposite his. The dining hall echoed it was so empty. There was one engineer, still dressed in his red uniform, sitting in the corner with a plate of food and a staggeringly huge book of schematics propped up against the napkin dispenser. The lighting had been dimmed, and it wouldn’t be hard to imagine this as a very sparse, unpopular bar, several hours past happy hour. 

Her hair was loose around her face, the white-blonde of it glinting silver in the subdued light. He was so accustomed to seeing her in uniform, hair tightly bound in a bun or braid, that seeing her in civvies with her hair undone came as something of a shock. He realized through his boozy haze that this was the first time he was actually looking at her solely as a woman, and not just as a capable nurse under his command who happened to be female. 

It was jarring, and confusing, and in his current state he didn’t like it. Not a bit.

“Well, why ain’t you planet-side then?” he demanded brusquely, reaching for the bottle she still held. He twitched his fingers, eyebrow arching, and she handed it back with the faintest of smiles. 

“I’d rather stay here, where it’s quiet,” she said, inclining her head. “Things’ve been so crazy in the med bay lately, I could use a breather. Thought I’d just relax. Read a couple books. Keep to myself.”

“Huh,” he grunted noncommittally, splashing a hefty mouthful into his shot glass. He glanced back up at her, dark brows beetled. “Sorry, don’t have another glass.”

“Not a problem, doctor,” she said, taking back the bottle and putting it to her lips. His eyes widened noticeably as she swallowed without a wince, handing back the bourbon as she ran a dark pink tongue over her lips. 

“Good God,” he murmured softly, throwing back his own shot. 

“So, is there a reason behind this inebriation?” she asked curiously, crossing her arms atop the table. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, fine as cornsilk, and his hand tightened reflexively. Was it as soft as it looked? And, God, now that she was leaning forward he saw that the top three buttons of her green blouse were undone. There was just the faintest glimpse of a pale curve, the edge of a dark bra—

He covered his reaction with a loud cough, hoping she’d blame the redness of his face on the booze. “Sometimes a man just wants to find the bottom of a bottle,” he managed to say hoarsely when he’d semi-recovered. 

“Oh, okay.” She hesitated, drawing the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth. He’d seen that tell before—she was about to say something she knew would upset him. “Because if it has anything to do with Ensign Saunders—”

“It doesn’t,” he cut her off sharply. She gave him a look, a look that explicitly said she didn’t believe him. “Chapel, it’s got nothing to do with that.” He toyed with the bottle, scraping its bottom against the table. Finally he sighed, his free hand lifting to rub wearily at his temple. “It’s an anniversary, alright? Of my divorce. And usually it doesn’t really bother me. But this week it’s like the universe’s just been conspirin’ against me. Chekov’s been whistlin’ Eileen’s favorite song, and God knows where he picked _that_ up. That new nurse, Shelley, could practically be her sister. And there’s Uhura talkin’ about learnin’ more about Vulcan culture for Spock’s sake, gettin’ interested in their rituals and such. It’s just been weighin’ on my mind more’n usual is all. And I don’t care to think much when I’m not workin’, cause I think too goddamned much when I _am_ workin’, and I’m just tired. So booze it was.”

Chapel was quiet, and when he risked a look up at her she was sitting awkwardly, hands clasped tightly around her arms. He sighed to himself—she was just trying to be friendly and he had to dump far too much personal baggage on her. She was still a young woman; she probably felt uncomfortable now, this grumpy old man venting at her. 

“Sorry, Chapel,” he said, pushing back his chair and starting to stand. “Enjoy your books—”

“My fiancé cheated on me,” she said softly.

His hands were flat against the table, poised to push him out of his chair, but after a moment they slid down to his sides. “How long were you together?”

“Six years. We met at the Academy. When he proposed to me he’d already been cheating for several weeks. With a girl who lived in my dorm. Turned out he’d sometimes stop to see her before coming up to my room. What a winner, huh?”

“The bastard,” he said angrily, and when she met his eyes he saw surprise in them. Perhaps that had come out with a little more heat than he had intended. 

“Yeah, he was. When I found out I punched him so hard in the mouth I knocked a tooth out. The Hippocratic Oath doesn’t count for much in a situation like that, does it?”

He grinned widely at that, and she had to smile, too.

“That’s a sorry, fucked-up situation for sure, but at least he didn’t cheat on you with your best friend. So there’s that for a small comfort.”

“Oh my God! That _is_ worse.” She grabbed the bottle he slid towards her and had another long pull. “Is that when you joined Starfleet? I overheard the captain joking once about you having a sordid past.”

“You wanna talk about sordid, you just ask Kirk about his juvie record and all the shit he pulled as a cadet,” McCoy said animatedly, jabbing a reproving fingers at her. “Hacking the Kobayashi Maru wasn’t the worst of it _by half_. And, hell, I bet he’s slept with half of Engineering—”

There was a polite but loud cough from the corner. They looked over to find the engineer staring at them pointedly as he stood and gathered his dishes, book held awkwardly under one arm. He left, the door swishing shut behind him, and Chapel burst into peals of laughter. 

“His face! That was a proper schoolmarm face if ever I saw one—even Mr. Spock would have been impressed!”

“Just as well he interrupted,” McCoy said, clearing his throat. “Shouldn’t be going on about the captain like that.”

“I think it’s really nice—the way you look out for him.”

“Y’mean the way he drags me into trouble? He’s a fine man, Jim Kirk, but damn it all if he ain’t a cocky sonuva bitch sometimes. Doubt I’ve ever hyposprayed someone so many times before. We were at Academy together, y’know? Which was a helluva thing. Me, already an accredited doctor with one marriage under my belt, stuck with this farmboy with a flair for blowing shit up. It’s a miracle I didn’t strangle him before graduation.”

She just smiled at him, eyes crinkling, and he realized he was enjoying himself. The blurrier edges of intoxication had faded away, and he was no longer truly drunk—just pleasantly sloshed. And there was an extremely beautiful young lady smiling at him across the table. When was the last time a woman had shown interest in him like this? 

God, _years_ at least. 

Granted, he hadn’t given anyone a chance. There’d been the months of steady boozing following the messy divorce proceedings, the abrupt decision to join Starfleet followed by two of the craziest, most infuriating years of his life. The dust-up with Nero—and God, if he hadn’t thought his luck had truly run out then—then graduation and this assignment. He’d just been too busy to even contemplate getting back on the horse, so to speak. And while there weren’t strict rules against fraternization—Uhura and Spock were obvious examples of that, not to mention Kirk and nearly every available female he met—he’d told himself to avoid starting anything while on this mission. Five years on the same ship, barring any extreme transfers or departures, was an awful long time to live with a mistake, particularly if you had to work side-by-side with someone every day. 

But then she took another swig from the bottle, and he couldn’t help but think, _Damn if she ain’t a real woman_. She was the best nurse on the ship, and better than almost all of the doctors when it came down to it. Chapel knew her job, and knew it well, and she was driven by a fire almost as passionate as his. She may be calmer and more outwardly collected, but he’d seen her eyes flash. Heard the tension in her voice. To be as good as she was, there had to be a flame. 

It had been a helluva long time since he’d been properly warm.

He rubbed a hand across his face, the calluses rasping against the stubbled beard, and told himself it was only the booze. Booze and loneliness, which was never a good combination. He couldn’t just follow his gut the way Kirk did—things never turned out so well for him when he did that. Probably because he didn’t have the sheer nerve that Jim had in spades. And he was never good at Spock’s logical approach, either. He was stuck somewhere in between, and damn if that didn’t define him. 

Always in the middle of the crosshairs.

“It’s getting late,” Chapel said calmly, simply making conversation. Her eyes looked too bright across the table, too blue and too open. It was hard to guess what she was thinking; for all that she spoke freely with a candid frankness, there was always a suggestion that there was more beneath the surface. A hand she wasn’t showing. An iceberg beneath the waves. He liked that about her—the sense that she was wholly her own. Independent yet reliable. 

“That it is,” he said heavily, moving his hand up to rub his eyes. It was at that point where everything felt gritty and either too dull or too sharp. He’d have a doozy of a headache in the morning. “Thanks for the chat, Chapel. G’night.”

“Let me walk you to your quarters,” she said. It was less of a request and more of a statement. Perhaps she was playing on that Southern code of conduct that had been hammered into him by his mama. _When a lady asks something of you, you do your best to oblige her._

“If you insist,” he begrudged, standing up and ignoring the clatter of the chair. 

“In case you need help standing straight,” she added with a smile.

There was a strand of hair caught in her eyelashes, and he _really_ wanted to brush it away. She had stunning eyes, the color of aquamarines, and Lord knew he’d always liked blue. Blue put him in mind of medicine and music with soul and those mixed drinks on Hull that could blow your skull clean open. 

“I’m not that drunk,” he said instead, more defensively than he had intended, as the door whooshed open. He was squinting in the brighter lights of the hall.

“Your eyes are awfully bloodshot,” she countered. “Gait is unsteady, coordination is diminished—”

“I know my damn symptoms, girl, and I’m telling you I’ve been worse!”

“I don’t doubt you.”

They reached the turbo-lift, and as the doors slid shut behind her he felt a surge of hot panic in his gut. It was a small space — smaller in his head thanks to the blurring at the edges — and she was all but a handful of inches away. He shook his head sharply in an attempt to clear it, and adamantly swore to stay away from bourbon for the rest of the mission.

“Everything alright?” she asked, stepping closer and stretching out a steadying hand.

“Yeah, sure, just peachy.” He realized he was half-afraid of what would happen if she touched him. Afraid that he’d make an ass of himself; afraid that it would strain their working relationship. 

Afraid that he’d enjoy it too much.

Because _hell_ , he was too old to be getting tangled up in all this again. He had a decent thing here on the _Enterprise_ , and had no desire to mar it. And, maybe, if he was completely honest with himself, he still felt too broken up from the last attempt at romance. He was a doctor, as he so frequently told Kirk, but he was also damaged goods. A bitter, grumpy old man half-pickled by past disappointments and cheap booze. What would a smart, pretty, young woman with ambition want with him?

The lift stopped, the doors opened, and he did his level best to walk out at a calm, steady pace. Three, four, five—he stopped at the door to his quarters and put a hand against the wall to lean while he punched in the access code.

“Dr. McCoy?”

Against his better judgment, he hesitated as the door opened and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yes, Chapel?”

“I wasn’t lying, down in the dining hall, when I said I just didn’t feel like going planet-side for leave. But… Maybe I wasn’t _completely_ honest with you.”

“Oh?”

“I heard the Captain say you were staying onboard to drown your sorrows, and I… wanted to help. If I could.”

“Help?” he echoed blankly.

“Jobs like ours, the stress is brutal. I was afraid you were letting the recent problems—the poisonous spores, Ensign Saunders’ death—weigh on you. I know how hard it is to keep going and do the work you have to do when you’re guilty or upset. And you’re the best doctor on the ship. So I wanted to help.”

Dear God, she was _blushing_. It started at her neck and worked its way up, and turned her porcelain complexion into strawberries and cream. Which was a fuckin’ ridiculous thing to think, but the thought still popped into his head unbidden.

“Chapel—Christine. I appreciate the sentiment,” he said roughly, no little embarrassed himself. “You’re a damn fine nurse, and a good woman. But sometimes ya just gotta have a good wallow now and then.”

“But that’s a dangerous attitude to have,” she said, stepping closer. “That can lead to depressive fits and anxiety disorders and feelings of inadequacy—”

It was too close to home, and he couldn’t stop the wince. 

Just his luck: she caught it. 

“Oh, God — not to say that you’re not a great doctor, because like I said, you’re absolutely the best we’ve got,” she blurted out, reaching out for his arm. Her fingers closed around his wrist. He shivered, lips pressing together. And damn if she wasn’t still the most observant woman he’d ever known, because she noticed that, too, and was looking at him with a new expression. 

There was a bit of surprise in it. And something else that surprised _him_.

“…Your pulse just jumped drastically,” she said quietly.

He didn’t respond.

“Doctor.”

“…Aw, hell,” he muttered, and then he kissed her.

It was nothing fancy or showy. No grand gesture like the embraces the cheap writers extolled in their romantic drivel. It was just a kiss, rough and a little awkward thanks to the bourbon and his own nerves. She didn’t have a chance to respond before he pulled away, as red in the face as she’d been a moment ago.

“Sorry, Chapel,” he said brusquely as she caught her breath. “That’ll never happen—”

“You can’t tell a girl that,” she cut in sharply, “when that’s the last thing she wants to hear. Why the hell do you think I came all the way up here, doctor?”

She hadn’t let go of his wrist, and now she was pulling him back in, her free hand slipping over the back of his neck as she caught his lips again with hers. It was slower and longer this time, and when they parted it was his turn to catch his breath.

“...Damn.”

“…So are you gonna invite me in or are we staying out here all night?”

He looked positively shocked, but that expression melted away when she kissed him again, leaning into him until he had to take a step back through the open doorway and into the darkness of the room.

His remaining hang-ups disappeared rather quickly. Almost as quickly as her blouse. Because her hair was as soft as he’d imagined, and that porcelain complexion gave way to freckles across her chest that for some reason made him giddy. And she didn’t mind the scruff, and certainly had no problems with his hands, especially when they were pressing and sliding just _there_. He’d always admired her bedside manner, which he had never had much of a knack for, but this put a whole new meaning on the term. 

And yes, he knew just how cliché and idiotic that sounded, but his brain was currently in the sway of a multitude of endorphins and serotonin and adrenaline, so he could be pardoned any trite turns of phrase. 

If she’d had any lingering concerns about his ‘feelings of inadequacy’, they laid that to rest, too. Maybe he was just drunk enough not to worry. He certainly didn’t feel like a bitter old man when she was gasping against his shoulder, fingertips stamping dark red half-moons across his skin. And when she arched her back, knee sliding over the ball of his hip, there just wasn’t enough room for rational thought.

For a few hot, blinding moments, she was no longer his nurse. No longer too young or ambitious or pretty to be interested. He was no longer a superior officer. Or a divorced and jilted husband. There wasn’t a single doubt about the issues of fraternization. 

It all just came down to chemistry, really. Pheromones and need. It had been a long time, and this felt better than good. 

It felt right.

Much, much later, when the aftershocks had stilled and the alcohol had faded, he could have felt a pang of regret or shame or guilt. He half-expected to. After all, he’d had no intention of sleeping with his best nurse, and it very well could have been the booze and impending anniversary that had led to this unexpected tryst. There would have been plenty of fodder for a walk of shame the next morning.

But instead, when he rolled over to find her still stretched out beside him, sheets tangled around her legs, he smiled. Because it took two to tango, after all, and he’d been raised to oblige a lady when he could. 

There’d be scuttlebutt amongst the crew for a while, and plenty of knowing remarks from a sure-to-be-gleeful Kirk. But talk he could handle. He could give as good as he got there, and most knew to back down after a blustery tirade or two. Even Kirk could be distracted with enough bellowing. And if Spock could see Uhura, and Kirk could have his dalliances with the girls of Engineering, why shouldn’t he be able to date?

Date. Oh Lord.

“I am _definitely_ getting too old for this,” he muttered, unaware that she was awake and smiling at him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” she said, smile turning into a grin. “Now, doctor, I was hoping you could show me that technique again that we were practicing last night…”


End file.
